Timing Is Everything
by LJG
Summary: The aftermath of the bashing at the end of episode 1x22. Brian has words with someone he holds responsible and contemplates telling an unconscious Justin things he shouldn't. If you like these gap-fillers, I hope you'll let me know and I'll post the rest. Happy reading, my QAF friends.


"Michael? Oh my God… Michael… what happened?" Debbie's gaze gravitated immediately to her son. "Me, Vic and Jen were having a few glasses of vino when the hospital called – all they'd say was that Justin had been hurt."

"Ma, sit down."

"I don't want to sit down." Debbie refused, taking his hand and demanding tearfully. "What the fuck is going on… what happened to Sunshine?"

"Where's Justin's mom?"

"She stopped at the desk to ask about him… Vic's with her."

Suddenly Jennifer Taylor made her way swiftly down the hall. Michael didn't think he'd ever seen the woman look less put together. Her face was positively ashen and her lips, a tight line.

Debbie kept her hand in Michael's, but turned to her brother. "What did they say?"

"He has a pretty serious head injury." Vic said, as calmly as possible. "Apparently another student attacked him at the Prom, and…." He put his hand on Jennifer's arm as she swayed a bit. "Well… the details are a bit sketchy right now." He gently urged the blonde woman to sit down. Vic was as upset as the rest of them, but living with the specter of death on a daily basis, made it's possible appearance now… less shocking somehow. "Why don't we all have a seat? We can't see him yet anyway, and the doctor will be out soon."

"Yeah, that's what they _say_." Michael griped. "But then it's 45 minutes later and you're still waiting."

At this, Debbie's eyes made their way back to her son. "How long have you been here?" She suddenly realized what else was wrong with this picture. "I thought you were on a plane."

"And why did they call you?" Jennifer was confused.

"Brian called me." Michael admitted. "He was with Justin when it happened."

"Oh Jesus." Suddenly it all became clear to Vic and he could only imagine the shape Brian must be in. "Where is he?"

Michael had finally managed to get his friend out of the washroom, after having cleaned him up a little. He'd been navigating their way back to the hard little chairs, when he' ha caught sight of his uncle down the hall, and figured their family and friends would soon be descending en masse. It wouldn't do Brian any good to be interrogated by them all right now, so before anyone could see them, he'd shoved Brian through the first door they came to. After all, it's not like the man was taking much noticed of his surroundings anyway. What Michael hadn't bothered to consider, was who else might be in there.

When Brian registered the sight in front of him, he narrowed his eyes and scowled. He didn't have the energy to hit or throw anything by this point, but there was still plenty of verbal venom left. "So what's the deal? Two fags not allowed to be happy? Doesn't fit your worthless little worldview, so you decide it should end?"

The stubborn silence he got in return only angered him further.

"Or maybe you were bored. Night not exciting enough for you… is that it?" He demanded. "You thought that maybe the irony… the drama and tragedy of it all might be interesting to watch?"

Still his antagonist refused to speak, but it didn't matter because Brian wasn't through.

"You must be completely fucking insane, you know that? I mean… you had me wondering there… what with people like Joanie, doing your PR… but I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt." Brian paced back in forth in front of his adversary, unable to stand still any longer; the fury fairly making his skin itch. "But this - this is just _fucked_! I mean… you do get that, right?"

He stopped and faced the crucifix once more, then sat down on the edge of a pew, defeat emanating from every pore.

"Why him?" He asked, quieter now, almost as though he felt likely to get an answer. "He doesn't deserve this, you know. Me… I can understand your beef with, but him… it just isn't fair." He slowly put his head down on his arms, now resting on a pew in the front row.

"Life isn't fair, son." Came a voice. "And it's probably a lucky thing for most people, that it isn't."

Brian's head shot up… certain that it was in fact, _he_ that was insane. After a moment he realized he wasn't as bad off as he thought… that it was just someone behind the screen, in the little makeshift vestry they kept for visiting clergy.

A man emerged from the shadows, lighting a cigarette as he did so. "You won't tell will you?"

Brian recovered himself enough to speak. "That God is a Janitor who likes to sneak a smoke in church?"

"Joe's the name, but as for the rest… well, I guess you got me." The man smiled. "Care for one? You look like you could use it." He tried not to dwell on the blood covering the younger man. Besides - he'd seen worse in his time here.

Brian took the offered cigarette and accepted a light as well. "Don't they smell it?" He asked numbly, glad to have anything else to focus on … even for a second.

"Nah… what with all the different candles and incense folks wave around this place, I might even get away with a stogie once in awhile."

"I think that might be pushing your luck."

You could be right." The man agreed. "Seems to me you must know something about that… the way you just berated the Lord."

Brian's thoughts were swiftly and unwillingly brought back to why he was here. "Yeah, well… the Lord had it coming." He ground out bitterly. "So if the going rate for a smoke is a lecture on the benevolent good will of God, then you can have it back."

"Not at all." The man sat down in the pew across the narrow aisle, and waved the proffered item away. "No love lost between He and I – so feel free to blast away."

Brian huffed out a breath that didn't quite become a laugh. "I think I'm done for the moment."

"You must have been a Catholic."

Brian gave a weak version of his regular eyebrow raise. "Why would you say that?"

"Because it's usually just the lapsed Jews or Catholics that can summon up that kind of resentment for God." The man shrugged. "I had fifty-fifty odds and took a shot."

"Good guess." Brian told him wryly. "So which are you?"

"The same... but I haven't had much use for the church in years."

"Except for this." Brian blew out a stream of the forbidden smoke.

The man nodded. "Ah… I remembered when you could smoke anywhere you liked." He recalled sadly. "Well… I guess it isn't good for you. But it does seem fairer to give a fellow a choice about quitting, rather than force the issue by making it impossible to light up anywhere."

"I'll smoke to that." Brian agreed, doing just as he said.

"It sounds like someone you care about is in trouble." Joe observed after a moment. "Somebody hurt him?"

Brian was deflated all over again, losing his taste for the smoke, as well as everything else. But he held onto it just the same. "Yeah."

"Well, I'm real sorry to hear that." Joe told him sincerely. "Seems to me there's enough pain in the world without some crazies feeling the need to add to it."

Brian couldn't think about that right now, because if he did …_he'd_ go crazy. Instead he changed the topic. "So what's your beef with the Almighty?"

The old man concentrated on his own smoke for a moment and just when Brian thought he wasn't going to answer, finally spoke. "He took someone away from me. Someone I loved very much."

"Sorry."

"He can be a right bastard, can't he." The man commented. "All the more reason not to let him win – show him you can beat him."

"How's that?" Brian wondered about the old man's sanity.

"When he leaves you without anything to believe in – you have to believe in yourself." Joe explained. "Show him you're just as powerful as he could ever be and you won't let him ruin your life. If he tries to take something from you – you stake your claim and let him know it's yours… not his. And you won't stand for anyone interfering in your business."

"It might be too late for that." Brian whispered.

"It's never too late son – just you remember that."

Brian looked up. "It didn't work for you though, did it."

"Well, now.." The man reasoned. "I didn't have the benefit of such sage advice – if I had, then it'd be a different story, I can promise you."

Brian merely nodded, taking a last puff of the smoke before putting it out.

"I hope that your friend will be all right." Joe offered.

Brian nodded, unable to offer a response, finding it hard to talk with his heart in his throat.

"And I hope that you will be too."

"Thanks." Brian managed as he stood to leave. Time to face the music. "And thanks for the smoke."

"Any time." The man assured him as Brian squared his shoulders and walked through the chapel doors.

Joe looked after him a moment, finishing his own cigarette and then turning back to the altar. "Now, now… I know what you're going to say: My Elisabeth was ready to go and it was a blessing to her that you took her when you did. You don't have to remind me of what she suffered. I only hope you'll be as kind when my turn comes."

The man snuffed out the smoke he'd worn down to the filter and looked back up. "But you listen here now… that boy – I don't think he and his friend are ready for that just yet. I get the feeling there are things not finished between them and he doesn't have faith in anything from the look of him... least of all you and I know you'll forgive an old man's blasphemes when it's for a good cause. Everyone needs to feel like there's someone on their side and he struck me as a young man without such a feeling. Better he should believe in himself, or something at least, even if it isn't you. But you mind me – you help him out just the same. I know you're fond of your mysterious ways, but you work something out – I'll leave it up to you what it is, but I want to hear that this ends well, or _we'll_ be having words."

The old man stood up, and got ready to make his rounds. "And look on the bright side – he must believe a little, or he wouldn't have bothered to yell at you." The man began to whistle as he went out a side door in search of his cleaning cart.

It had been three days, now. Three days in which he had uttered barely a word and eaten even less, and all of it here at the hospital, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. He was terrified about what might happen in his absence; As though his very proximity might be keeping Justin here. After the first twenty-four hours, Michael had briefly gone to the loft and brought Brian a change of clothes. He'd practically had to dress the man himself, as Brian didn't feel up to even the simplest task.

The gang had been coming and going in shifts since it happened, but ultimately, the only regular residents of the waiting room were Jennifer, Michael and Debbie when she wasn't working. And, of course, Brian.

They spoke barely at all after that first night. Michael did most of the talking and Jennifer was strangely silent when it came to questions. Although, Brian didn't know that there was a lot to say, really. Daphne had arrived not long after Jennifer and she gave the woman a sanitized version of events. No blame had been forthcoming, but he was sure it must be on all their minds.

So here they were, three days in and not a thing had changed. Justin had been moved, of course, and they could see him two at a time, but there wasn't much to see; No sign animation from that normally effervescent body and not a sound from the usually garrulous youth.

He looked around the waiting room at his dozing companions. He didn't know how they could possibly sleep – not while Justin still was. Brian felt like he'd been awake for years.

He carefully untangled his hand from Michael's and quietly made his way down the hall. At two-thirty in the morning, the place was hardly bustling and he was glad, since he'd had his fill of people, even more than usual. It was as though everyone was afraid to leave him alone for very long… and perhaps they should be. He'd shown them all how well things worked out when he was left to his own devices.

As he approached the door he felt a little sick… and not just from the cafeteria coffee Michael had brought him earlier. He hadn't been in Justin's room for more than a moment before this, and never alone. He screwed up his courage and was about to push open the door when a nurse stepped out, having just finished checking on Justin.

"Oh I'm sorry." She gave Brian a smile. "I didn't see you. You can go on in, if you like."

"Are you sure?" Brian was almost hoping for an excuse not to.

"Absolutely." She assured him. "It's good for him to have loved ones around him. He can feel it you know – and he can hear. You should talk to him." She gave Brian a friendly pat on the shoulder and continued her rounds.

Brian took a breath and went through the door before he could change his mind. What had that old man in the chapel said? Believe in himself… let God know that he couldn't fuck with Brian Kinney, and what was his. And Justin was his, damn it.

He looked down at his would be possession and felt ill anew. That quiet form wasn't Justin. Justin was spirited, and playful, and he _never_ ignore Brian's presence – always had a smile for him, even when Brian didn't deserve one. Perhaps especially then. And he definitely wasn't a quitter. So the idea of Justin apparently leaving him without a fight, pissed Brian off.

"Hey. It's me. How you doing? You've looked better, but it's not too bad." Brian brushed a few hairs off the pale face, refusing to acknowledge the heavy bandage. "You gonna wake up for me?" He waited, as though the kid might actually answer. "You're not my first coma victim, you know. I've been here before, so if you think this is rattling me, you're wrong."

Brian leaned in and tried to detect any sign of life that might be there, however faint. Something… anything other then those fucking monotonous beeps. "You know what worked for Ted don't you? You ever hear about that? I fucked an orderly on the bed next to him. Just goes to show that my cock is so superior that even being in the same room when it's in action has healing power. I could make a dead man rise with this thing." Then Brian realized what he'd said. "But you're not dead… do you hear me? You fucking wake up Justin, I mean it. You want me to go get that guy? There must be a dozen like him around this place and I swear… I swear, Justin I will fuck every God damn, last one of them right here if you don't wake the fuck up!"

Brian looked around, after realizing that he'd gotten a little loud. No sound came from the hall, however and unfortunately, none from the bed either. "You're not going to let this go, are you. You think you're going to make me do this, don't you. Well you can forget it. No fucking way. I don't feel responsible for you; I'm not responsible for anybody. It's not up to me to make this better… I'm not in charge. People survive shit like this all the time and you will too." Brian just stared at the still form, getting more and more angry at the lack of response. First God ignoring him, and now Justin. "Will you fucking say something!"

He got up and walked over to the window, unable to look at the boy anymore. Instead, Brian stared out into the dark of the early morning and tried to get a hold of himself. "I like my life you know. It's a great life… I have lots of money, I have a job that I fucking excel at, but incidentally, had to miss today because of you. I fuck anyone I want to and I do it very well, so don't just lay there in your comfortable little coma and think I'm going to screw all that up for you." Brian turned around and glared at the inert form in front of him, then pulled the chair as close to the bed as he could and sat down.

"I'm not responsible. And I don't feel guilty." He wasn't even convincing himself, so he was sure Justin wasn't buying it. "You've got it easy, you know that? I've been here every day… every fucking day for the last three, trying to figure out. why no matter what I have… I feel like I don't have anything. So don't expect me to feel sorry for you. It's easy being asleep; try being me." Sitting wasn't working – he was too restless. He got up and began to pace the small room.

"I won't do it. I don't believe in that shit. So don't give me that crap about me being the one for you. There's nothing… _nothing_ special about us. It wasn't fate, it wasn't destiny… it was two horny guys who met up one night and decided they like to fuck each other, that's it. I decide what I'm going to do and I'm not going to change my life simply to keep some twinkie in my bed, just because he's kind of sweet and sucks cock better than me. Do you hear me?!"

Brian bent down and stared at Justin's face, praying to find an answer there. "What do you want from me?!" He shouted, then turned from the bed and went to the window, almost ready to jump out it rather than stay here and face this. "What do you want from me?" It was uttered more weakly now, as though the first inquiry had taken too much out of him.

He leaned his head against the cool glass that looked out on a city Justin might never see again. "What do you want from me?" He started to weep, but caught himself.

Brian walked back over to the bed. "Fine, all right… just for the sake of argument, let's say I do say it. Ok? If I say it – I want you to understand that it wouldn't be because I felt I had to." He pulled his chair up close again and sat down. "It wouldn't be because I felt guilty or responsible or anything. If I do this… _shit_…" His voice broke and his head sank down on the barely rising chest of his lover, hiding the tears even though no one was there to see them. "…if I say it…" He mumbled. "…and I do mean _if_… then it's because I want to. For you."

Brian lifted his head and looked at the sleeping young man, praying that maybe he could hear after all. Because if he could believe that, even a little, then he was willing to confess anything if it would bring him back. "Justin… I…"

"Brian?"

Having heard his name, the man started for a minute, until he realized it hadn't come from the body on the bed. He looked over to the doorway and saw Debbie standing there, having obviously just opened the door.

"Honey, I just got off work and I brought you some meat loaf. You won't do him any good if you get sick, sweetie. You need to eat something." Debbie's concern filled face snapped Brian out of his self-indulgent melancholy. What the fuck was he doing… talking to a kid who couldn't even hear him and about to say something he… well, that he had no business saying, especially since he didn't believe in it.

"Thanks, Deb." He managed after a second, sliding his hand out of Justin's and wondering how it had gotten there. For a moment he had even imagined he felt it grip his a little tighter as he removed it. With his back to Deb and his face hidden, he leaned in and kissed that hand. "Don't go anywhere." He whispered, before getting up and following the unknowingly intrusive woman out of the room.


End file.
